Tough Skin
by Lina-the-dEmEnTeD AUTHOR
Summary: Choose to be lost in the woods...ClamGretchen. By Dali's curly moustachio...ROMANCE!


**Tough Skin**

_If I be waspish, best beware my sting. -William Shakespeare's The Taming of the Shrew_

**...CrunchCrunchCrunch...Snap...CrunchCrunch...**

Steadily preceding forth, a well planned forceful military march with each step, a certain hot-headed reptilian Squirrel Scout continued her easily formulated escape. She muttered certain obscenities in the direction of her unapparent friends yards behind her, as she pulled at a galling twig, that had found itself entwined in her surprisingly soft curls. Of course because patience was not one of her best fortes, instead of fiddling with the gold strands knotted around the pesky sprig, she grimaced as she gave the stick one great tug, and tore the appendage, along with numerous blonde hairs from her head.

Growling so frightfully deep that Commander Hoo-Haw himself would shudder, she threw the oppressive twig as far away from her as possible with mighty force. Not even hesitating, as a crow was heard off in the far, far distance, screeching after being bombarded with a flying twig from sources unknown, she continued through the woods. She ground her barbarous teeth, seething gasps, oblivious to the playful wet leaves, dancing amidst her footsteps below, plastering themselves to her shins.

"Those stinkin' stupid, gooey-sappy stupid girls! Can't they think about ANYTHING BESIDES-GRRRARRHH!" Gretchen hollered in frustration, as she punched the trunk of a defenseless fifteen foot birch tree. Seconds after her blow was delivered upon the shaken flora, the thin layer of bark unraveled from the top of the tree, traveling down all the way to it's base. Like toilet paper strewn around a broad maypole.

She panted, heart rate returning to it's steady pattern, and blood cooling (More so that usual, since she was cold blooded to begin with.). Rather than her thoughts, she kept focused on the breeze of the cooling summer night air against her scaly face. Physical aggression was her usual outlet for any of her vexing situations. This wasn't the first time she "released her vexations" on a tree, but she tried her best not to make it a habit. By keeping the population of tree life abundant, that implied NOT becoming enraged. However she found this terribly difficult to do so, since her friends had recently begun incessantly discussing a very popular, newly discovered issue. Romance.

Idol worship, and crushes were one thing, a harsh lesson one or two of the boys at their neighboring camp across leaky lake had learned.

Her seraphically sweet crush on the snowy-white platypus Edward had over time faded, with the realization, that she had been a victim to the classic case of pining for the _"Bad Boy",_ and was only drawn to the intense ferocity of his exterior, she believed matched her own. A match made in heaven. Two miserable people, angry at their abject world, and bonded by their hate. And just the thought of bonds and matches ended her infatuation. They did however share an agreeable _"Happy Place"_ for a small moment she would always treasure, while they metaphysically ground their peace loving therapist into the dirt. However one cannot stay in Nirvana forever, and must rejoin the real world, in all it's hurly burly turmoil.

She released a huff, which turned into a toothy smile dragged across her face, as she leant against the newly skinned tree, remembering how the girls unanimously began chasing, clamoring, and prying over the poor sap who was the unfortunate hunky model look-alike of the week. After that incident, Samson wasn't able to make eye contact with the Squirrel Scouts for a good long time.

All this teen heart-throb sensation was dubbed in her mind as nothing more than a passing fancy. She had found light interest in Ouijii boards, but only to invoke it's intuition of what is to be, and NOT whom she was incorporeally shackled too for countless eons.

But _this_ subject, not controlled by the spiritual realm, but by the heart in question was dangerous. IT was an evoking, lurking tormentor, it was...love. Thought drowning, swooning, kissy-face, field of flowers, skipping down a country lane love. Frightening if you will. So much so that she would slip away unnoticed, whenever confronted by the mere mention of it.

Over her shoulder she glanced back, just able to make out the glow of the very campfire, which she had retreated to the woods from. Narrowing her eyes, Gretchen could just imagine each of the girls simultaneously sigh and dreamily look off into empty space, in a synchronized manner that caused the alligator's head to spin. Of course her vision was never as good as it was on land, in comparison to when she was in the water, nor was she gifted with any second sight. All she could see from yards away, through the bracketed cris-crosses of wood, and covert branches, was the glimmering light of their campfire. A lone flickering moth dancing aflame in the inky darkness.

However despite her slightly impaired vision, she knew the predictable nature of this strange species called _"girls"._ Eventually they would begin performing ridiculous rituals, such as writing love letters to their _"certain someone" _on delicate slip of the pinkest tissue paper, doused in a malodorous flammable perfume, and adorned with a florid plume of hearts designs. As a fun filled addition to the clap trap, they burned their sonnets in the fire, as a sacrifice to an unnamed supernatural divinity controlling the balance of romance in the universe. The simplicity of it all.

It wasn't that she earnestly believed that a majority of her fellow campers had lost all personality and unique traits, and had gone to snag some hapless boy, no other thought in their heads. She knew they were still capable of playing their usual camp games, jokes and activities of the grittiest degree, eating junk food long afternoons on end, or simply playing and being kids while the summer held it's breath. No less that a few months ago, they had all proven this fact to her through their off-centered, yet innocent naivety, in mistaking Den Mother Doe's Fru-Fru pageant, for a tribal ritual enabling them with the power of flight. Of course it ended embarrassingly with Nina's brush with a concussion, but afterwards, to Gretchen's relief, none of her friends were practicing putting on rouge, or balancing books on their heads, to show what dull-as-butter knives, polished little ladies they were, ready to be wooed by their very own Don Juan on a magnificent stallion, and swept off into the cascading horizon, drenched in the relishing glow of a red sunset! But they seemed to be living on another plane of existence sometimes, to which she was forced to only nod and agree.

Of course, she still bore a soft spot for what she considered the _"Finer"_ things in life, as defined by her cushy environment, such as unicorns, tea and other favorites defined as girly and such. Nonetheless she earnestly hoped her friends wouldn't show signs of this rush into some flimflam courtship, and just remain a bunch of carefree kids having fun, and occasionally meddling with the Kidney Boys, they could casually look down upon. She did accept that everyone, boy or girl, was in the process of growing up, but what an alarming rate!

All of a sudden, breaking her train of already torn thoughts, she could see a thick pink cloud of smoke, in the curious shape of a heart, blossoming from the campfire. Gretchen shook her head, a hissing scoff escaping her green lips.

"Patsy must've burned _"Ode to a Monkey",_ Volumes one through six." she said turning nonchalantly from the superfluous and unexpected light show. She knew eventually that the campfire would become the cheeriest pink nuclear explosion on Leaky Lake, and most likely able to be seen from space. It was already pulsating like a radioactive mushroom cloud. Thusly she decided it was too early to stalk back to her cabin in a huff, and continued traipsing through prickly pines forest instead.

More fallen, myhr-soft leaves fell prey beneath her feet, or those wet with night dew, clung to her calves, like rub-on tattoos. Annoyance made a metamorphosis into curiosity of her surroundings, as the moon overhead, poured through lurching clouds. She could almost hear the clouds creeping away, as if rusted and creaking from billions of years drifting around the little blue planet. The woods were drowned in the pale blue twilight, as if she were center stage, in the middle of a performance. She remembered being dragged to some theater performances in her young life, and how an, almost intriguing, special backdrop and lighting was used especially for the scenes that took place in the middle of the night. Apparently, no matter what the show was, these night scenes were vital to the plot, and transgression of the tale. Usually these scenes consisted of either a bandit, stealing away into the night, ghosts and murder in all their theatrical dramatics, or perhaps two lovers meeting in secret.

She shook her head ferociously at that final thought, and of all the plays her bleeding heart friends had dragged her too, consisting of a subject she wasn't in the mood to let mar a perfectly peaceful night.

Despite the spotlight from the reflection of the moon's hovering presence above her she was able to see, best to her vision, the intermittent light emanated from an unknown flame in the distance, identical to the campfire she had previously fled. Minus the bouncing pink smoke signals from torched love letters, of course. She knew that by now she had strode long enough to most likely have wandered into Bean Scout territory. At first she felt the norm of her inner recalcitrant stubborn voice, begin to rise, demanding she, at the time being, alienate all living things of sound body and mind (Or in any Bean Scouts' case, and her opinion, _"unsound mind"_.), especially dumb Bean Scouts, however... she decided to seize the night, and divert from the norm. Only a little though, as she was notoriously known for being as flexible as a concrete girder.

With vibrato and confidence in the soles of her dirt crusted hiking boots, she walked towards the campfire that beckoned her ever closer, not certain of what or whom she would encounter. Moving towards the fire, and swatting away elongated branches in her path, she felt the heat breath against the bare skin of her claws, as rhythmatic as the beat of a heart. Almost like the flames had been summoned to life.

Preparing her social graces, or preparing to sit back, in a meditative state of stolid awkward silence, with her newfound random company, she flicked away the last branch tickling her snout. Either way, it was all the same to her, as she let a wicked grin smear across her face. She prepared to _"pounce",_ upon unsuspecting rivals, let alone boys, who trembled at the ground she and her friends walked on. Maybe, she pondered, they would give her all of whatever it was they were snacking on. There was always room at the stash back in her cabin.

Drawing in a deep breath of the chilled air behind her, as if preparing to walk into a room filling with noxious fumes, she strut into the unknown.

Her scheme to co-mingle, or otherwise show that she didn't care to socialize, but would allow others to be in her presence, was all for naught, as the camp fire was desolate of all life. The only movement could be seen from the dance of the flames, snapping in the warm air before her. Unamused clenched fists met her hips, wondering how far into mediocrity the residents of Kidney had plunged. Even after running in sheer terror from a _"Yetti"_ one time, and prying themselves from a sticky puddle of marshmallow sludge, the Squirrel scouts had the common know-how to extinguish a simple fire.

Deciding the abandoned fire-site was a boon for meditative silence from a somewhat hectic night, she bent down to sit before the fire.

**...FWHOOM...**

Three and a half seconds after reclining on the clearing of dirt, cross-legged, she was met by an inky swirling blast of smoke, and ash.

"GHAAAHH-ACK! Wh-WHAT! Murahhgrrrrrrr..." she stammered in confusion, as if she had been hit with a whipped cream pie, laced with shaving cream as substitute for the filling.

Thankfully no hot cinders had scalded her skin, though the grit and black fumes had assaulted a majority of her five senses, as she rubbed her tearing, bleary eyes, and coughing up a storm, trying in vain to let loose the taste of charred residue.

"Oops! Sorry!"

The disembodied, somewhat raspy, voice startled the alligator girl to cease her presently rapid fussing, and sit up ridged as a statue, panic stricken, like a cat caught in the headlights of an oncoming car.

"W-who's... there?" she said, so meekly, she could barely hear herself, wondering if the smoldering blast had deafened her. Coming to her senses quickly, and regaining her courage, she asked again more brashly this time, as she jumped to her feet, from her fleetingly comfortable spot.

"Alright, whose the wise guy?" she snarled, daring any defiant to stand up. She strode quickly around to the other side of the fire, rolling her sleeves up her arms, only to find that the person once occupying that space had moved.

She was sure he had been there, the instant upon hearing "the dead man" scuttle on hand and knee, opposite to her, on the other side of the fire, following her own direction, snickering nervously.

He was toying with her. Going in the same direction as her, ring-around in a circle, trying to land her into that old slapstick routine. She let out a low rumbled growl from the depths of her core. She had an ace up her sleeve. She could smell fear, as she spun around on heel, crouching down, and leapt towards where she knew the soon to be pulverized offender would be.

This was a wise lesson, she mused. Never try to outrun Gretchen, especially around a ring of fire. One may get burned.

"Ahhhaaaa!" she shouted inches away from the hazel-brown eyes of a certain Albino Pygmy Rhino, who could only grin nervously. He was clutching to a pump, normally used to increase the flames in fireplaces, as if it were his lifeline. He slowly moved it behind his back, and out of sight of the cranky, soot faced girl's vision. However she caught glimpse, of the object that caused the simple accident, she deemed as an infuriating nuisance. Gretchen, had she been anyone else, would have laughed at his antics, however she had to maintain her icy tough uncordial reputation, as a jagged sneer tugged at her lips.

"And just what are you doing with that fireplace bellow?" she whispered, intimidation and anger underlying her words. She narrowed her glassy foreboding eyes, as light danced off the dark pools of her irises. Her fingers curled up into fists, the only noise surrounding the two was the sound of her knuckles cracking, the frightened gulp straining from the little yellow rhino's throat, and the sound of wood crackling from the extreme heat of the blaze.

"Well?" She demanded, her voice raising a decibel or two, yanking the device in question out from it's hiding place behind his back, presenting it between the two. She mock examined it, testing it's squeezing, and expandable durability. "I really doubt you were practicing the accordion, Clam." she continued, pointing the nozzle of the wind bag in his direction.

A vibrant bead of sweat, glistening like a precious jewel on the cheek of night, dribbled down his face. He shook his head, back and forth, that appeared more like an eruption of vibrations, wracking his spine, and moving downward to his knocking knees.

"N-n-no. Uh...just make 'em big fire!" he said waving his hands in defense, now his whole body quaking like a defective machine.

"Really? Then what was all that giggling I heard?" she dared, moving closer in for the kill, causing him to clumsily stumble backward, an foot or so. Gretchen had to wonder herself, if he was over reacting in order to silently amuse her with more goofy antics, or was she truly that frightful. Or, for that matter, if he would properly speak up, since he was so quiet whenever encountering Clam, usually escorted by his best friends, and bunk-mates Lazlo and Raj.

He composed himself, rocking forth on the balls of his heels with a nervous simper on his face, praying she would buy the next excuse he was about to utter.

"Ummm...Mad's a cute look?"

Gretchen could swear it was so quiet, she could hear the groaning squeal of the wind blowing the clouds overhead.

Now, there are precious material objects in ones lifetime that are seen as rarities and fine treasures, beyond the measure of purchase, yet sought to be obtained. The expression on Gretchen's face was one of those rare things. Priceless.

"W-wuh...why you..." she murmured, her amusement and patience dissolving, the priceless expression evaporating to, much to Clam's dismay, an expression of pure fury. He had been rather taken with such a rare look of surprise on the constantly morose girl's face.

She raised her clenched hand, winding up for the punch. Clam grimaced, untying his kerchief from around his neck, and tightening it over his eyes. He then pulled a lolly pop from his back pocket, and sucked on the confection on one side of his mouth, as if preparing to be executed by a firing squad.

A few seconds passed, and nothing happened. Gretchen let her arm wilt like a fallen sunflower stalk. Clam could hear a tired sigh, and a small chuckle from in front of him. He peeled the red cloth from over one eye, daring to peek, and saw Gretchen had once again phased into another attitude. A wry mix of exhaustion, disappointment, and bitter humor over the ridiculousness she encountered. Clam was baffled. Girls were confusing enough, let alone Gretchen.

"Lose the blindfold Clam, I'm not gonna pound you..." she said avoiding his stare, now filled with relief. Instead her eyes settled on a log, hissing and cracking amongst the flames, like a live animal, or a roach, as Gretchen silently referenced it to.

"But don't ever think of trying to charm me with the _"cute"_ word in public." she warned, her off-black jade eyes meeting his. "Got that Voltaire?"

Bafflingly enough on the young alligator's part, he nodded with the jolly exertion of a grand prize winner of a lottery draw, rather than someone being threatened by her. Alone. In the middle of a forest. She was both surprised and a bit threatened by his glee.

"Aye aye Sun Tzu!" he answered, shaking her hand, clasped in both of his. Clam's expression was glazed and doused with gratitude that she didn't knock his block off. Gretchen rolled her eyes, wondering if hitting him would do any good at all, recalling his hidden strength from their Tug-Of-War encounter.

When it came to humiliation in the spotlight, she knew no one was exempt from such a _"fun-filled"_ life experience. She mused, half lidded, with a small undetectable inscrutable smile, how lucky the cause of their insane behavior was obviously the temporary love sickness, or else people would start talking. As if she didn't have enough to deal with.

The wheels in her head suddenly locked when she realized the boy had stopped the handshake, and she had been standing for quite a few seconds, with her hand nestled in Clam's palms.

The moment the warmth from his soft hands raced up her nerve endings, she yanked her hand away as if he were venomous, taking a step back, folding her arms as casually and cooly as she could muster. She prayed to unseen forces that nobody saw that ephemeral moment of physical hand contact, that suggested anything whatsoever. Especially when that moment of _"weakness",_ as she eloquently deemed it, was not influenced by a bump on the head.

"Hmmph...clammy..." she muttered, commenting on those soft yellow hands in disdain, hiding the rosiness that had blossomed against her sharp cheekbones. The boy gave her a puzzled look, but then graced with his usual humored grin, as a funny idea plowed into his mind.

"Heh-heh! Gretchy!" he said, innocently clasping his hands, taking the lost step between them, slyly closer towards her.

"N-no! I meant your hands!" she responded, urgently, a bit bothered by his little game. "Sweeeeeaty!" She said, stretching the word, cursing the inclination of her mumbling taken out of context.

"Sweetie?" he answered, bursting into his short breathed hysterics, only to be cut off abruptly by a hand clasping around the larger horn atop the edge of his snout, and jerking him forward. His legs gave way, as he buckled to his barely stable knees. In fear, his eyes remained shut, though he knew the curst girl was yet again, threateningly close.

Something was amiss though. True she had lost her temper, and patience, ... though it felt, unbelievable as it was, that she was straining to actually control her urge to wallop him. Why she was holding back, was a paradox beyond his measure, and her own.

He had seen her fury unleashed on crimes less than his teasing. Even his days spent as the Camp Kidney Psychiatrist, he was unable to interpret, why it was that Gretchen, the most merciless girl from the rival camp, granted him remission.

"I think you forgot a discussion we just had." Gretchen seethed. Suddenly he felt himself free fall to the dry earth below, half expecting the girl to claw his eyes out. However she had simply released his horn, and allowed Clam to drop to her foot level.

As a peace offering he rolled onto his back, beaming up at Gretchen with one of his blue ribbon smiles, her face masked with an undescribable shroud, between amusement and adversity. He noted how the scales across her skin, glistening against the flames, seemed perfectly traced around her face and neck, like the cobblestones of the submerged Bimini Road, his parents had detailed and photographed, after their trip to the islands of the Bahamas, on their most recent Anniversary. How unworldly, yet balanced with dignity.

"Your just lucky you didn't pull a stunt like that fifteen minutes ago." she continued, as she stared at the boy in front of her feet, shaking her head softly. This time instead of a harsh whisper, Clam was able to detect the tiniest flutter of her laughter.

Now he was even more confused.

The tables had turned once more, now in Gretchen's favor, as the Rhino was increasingly confused with her mixed display of emotions, and baffled even more so via her inability to strike him.

Or perhaps it wasn't an inability as much as it was her choice.

He stared off into space in a stupor, from both the riddle that had just taken rise, and the two foot drop onto his stomach. Scatty minded, he reached for the reptilian hand she offered to pull him off of his back, and to his feet. Her hands were much softer than imagined, despite rumor of bad skin plaguing reptilians.

He felt time slow and stretch as he sluggishly regained footing. As time itself was melting like leftover gourmet party cheese on a humid breathless summer night.

All he could feel was the heat bloom scarlet on his face, and Gretchen's hand. And all he could think of, farfetched as it was, that the cheese (Metaphorically speaking obviously) would cease in mid-ooze, and not melt into amorphous nothingness. A Persistência da Memória. Once standing erect though, he was brought back to earth, and felt feeling come back to his lifeless limbs.

Gretchen was about to whip her hands away in her casual fury, kick herself mentally, and wriggle underneath the nearest boulder for making hand contact once more with Clam. But then she caught sight of the normally quixotic, miniature Rhino's face. Anyone with or without an untrained eye of observance could see the expression of placidity on his face, reminiscent to her own earlier.

Opposed to slapping his hand away from her's she gently released his hand. Then daintily (As much as she could muster) folded her arms across her chest, maintaining her signature posture, as she walked smoothly over to an unoccupied log, and gracefully sat down. Her movement was reminiscent to a steak knife slicing through milk.

She held herself with a sense of calm dignity, a halcyon smile and radiated esprit de corps. She meet his gaze as if welcoming, or requesting his presence. Clam felt his once immobile limbs take over, as he followed, and sat down next to her. His movement was, at best, a tad less harmonious, as he dropped down next to her with a flump.

It was true, through Gretchen's perspective, that silence was indeed golden. This was literally the first time, in quite awhile, that she was able to sit and enjoy another person's company, without being expected to drone on pointless conversation, and nattering gossip. The boy next to her, this...Clam was assuredly not the stolid strong somewhat silent type, nor was he a silently brewing lunatic, but somehow without stating so, he expressed to her that he was at a state of monk-like tranquility, happiness and felicity he did his best to share, and radiate upon others. She felt almost ashamed of herself for ever thinking otherwise.

"Clam...uhhmm..." she began, immediately regretting she uttered anything at all, thinking she shattered what seemed like the most appealing few moments of her normally rotten day. However, now she had to back up uttering his name with a witty perhaps sarcastic quip.

"Well! Your not much of a talker, but at least you not jabbering away, like my dopey friends, or one of those yammering McCoy's back at your place..." she said knavishly, coaxing back, and stretching her legs unmindfully. She then felt a weight lightly hefted onto her right shoulder. She glanced down to see Clam, coyly leaning onto her frame, his eyes barely open as he gaze looked upward to meet her own.

"Eh Gretchen?" he said, just as delicately as his slightly rasped tenor voice would float when whispering. He was trying to reach her, trying to solve the bitter mystery she famed herself to be, and all she wanted to know that moment was what transpired behind those brown tinted gold eyes boring into her.

"Y-yes" she replied in a faint wheeze, daring stand her ground and look at him, ignoring the heat rushing up her face and to her eyes.

Suddenly, before she knew it, he roped his arm around from behind her, and had her in a gentle, but secure head lock, and was gently twisted his knuckles atop her skull, tussling her blonde hair.

"NOOGIE!" he shouted, laughing at both his ruse, and the alligator girl's expression, he quickly found he was fond of, whenever he caught her off guard.

"Uh-whut're- what the heck're you-GAH!" she shouted, slipping out of the crook of his arm, and springing to her feet before the broadly grinning boy, still trying to suppress cacophonous laughter from his sneak attack.

"Ohhhohoho...your dead now pal! I think a cremation will do nicely..." she said, cracking her knuckles, indignation in her tone, but she bore a coltish sly grin on her face. "Lets make this interesting. How's about I count to ten...one... two..."

Before he could let her count any further, Clam jumped up and broke into a run, off into the woods.

"TEN! RAHHHHAHAHAHA!" she bellowed after the boy, still able to see his moving form ahead of her, as she gave chase after him through the starlight shocked wood.

"Hehehe...Not the face!" he panted over his shoulder, as he ducked behind the protection of a tree trunk.

"Don't worry! I'll just swipe off that pretty face, and save the MORTICIAN THE TROUBLE!" she yelled after him, as she reached out to snag the pygmy rhino's shirt collar.

"YAY! GRETCHEN THINKS CLAM'S PRETTY!"

"SHUT IT FABIO! I DO NOT!"

**THE END...?...!...?...**Nah I kid it's over.

**Authors Notes and Analysis. Prepare to be Boarded:** I finally jumped the bandwagon, and made a short romantic pairing fic. "I say, I'll ship it!" Clam/Gretchen. I christen thee Gram...or Cletchen... Someone's in the Cletchen with Dinah! Someone's in the kitchen I know-oh-oh-oh. Wow I never realized what a smutty song that is. Fee-Fie-Fiddly-I-ohhh! Yeah baby!

In any case, I believe opposites create a universal balance, that is so to speak, breathtaking. Gretchen is cavil in short. A grouch, yet more importantly prideful, grounded, taking on a no-nonsense manner, and lacks trust in others. Clam on the other hand is quixotic, outward and friendly in manner, surreal, and a somewhat tacit prodigy. What one is, the other is not.

And as a now official shipper, I have obtained evidence pertaining to the unison of these characters. My evidence dates all the way back to when Gretchen provided as the filler counterpart from Patsy's group, but this shipping has obviously found structure from the "Love Sickness" episode, when, after a game of Tug o' War, Clam falls in love with Gretchen, after their heads crashed into one another. From a Layman's point of view it seems the only thing these two have in common is strength. Clam takes next to no notice of this, and blissfully continues having fun, as Gretchen flaunts her power, but is taken aback by his dormant unseen strength he possesses.

And dah, I know about the whole "Gretchen likes Edward" thing, but I'm curiously a toe-nail chewing, window licker, so I choose to wave it off.

At the end of the episode, I get my absolute proof, when Lumpus obviously contracted the "Sickness", and was quarantined in the Jelly Cabin, basking in the flu-like symptoms, as he mused and pined for, who else, Jane Doe. I doubt that he and Miss Doe coincidently smashed heads too, so instead the Sickness was causing him to outwardly express his heart's desire. (No doilies intended.) Ergo! Love Sickness Inward and/or confronted affections revealed without trace of self control. Hey-nonny-nonny! Don't forget to show me you care with a review. All proceeds going into the black hole that is my ego.


End file.
